Whiting: Meeting grimness with compassion

Sept. 27, 2013

Updated 10:34 p.m.

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A stuffed green frog played a vital role in helping Detective Laura Lomeli solve a case of child abuse. Now the frog is part of Lomeli's office decorations at the Anaheim Family Justice Center. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli shows off the Disney Room at the Anaheim Family Justice Center. The room, decorated by Disney, allows children to play and be entertained while their parents are filing reports of family abuse and sex crimes. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli shows off the Disney Room at the Anaheim Family Justice Center. The room, decorated by Disney, allows children to play and be entertained while their parents are filing reports of family abuse and sex crimes. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli came up through humble means, saved her money and attended UCLA and then the police academy. Now she specializes in family abuse and sex crimes at the Anaheim Justice Center. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli came up through humble means, saved her money and attended UCLA and then the police academy. Now she specializes in family abuse and sex crimes at the Anaheim Justice Center. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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A stuffed green frog played a vital role in helping Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli solve a case of child abuse. Now the frog is part of Lomeli's office decorations at the Anaheim Family Justice Center. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

A stuffed green frog played a vital role in helping Detective Laura Lomeli solve a case of child abuse. Now the frog is part of Lomeli's office decorations at the Anaheim Family Justice Center. BRUCE CHAMBERS, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

A stuffed green frog that could be Kermit's cousin sits on a shelf above Anaheim police Detective Laura Lomeli's desk. But the Muppet never helped solved a real crime. This frog did.

In many respects, the fuzzy frog is something like Anaheim's Family Justice Center, a one-stop, multi-service facility for the victims of some of the most horrific crimes in the county.

With rooms filled with soft couches, a play pirate ship, a yellow plastic car big enough for a toddler – the building is designed to comfort those who hurt as well as to ensure the guilty are locked away.

Lomeli crinkles her nose and smiles when she points out shelves of stuffed teddy bears. But it's all business when the 31-year-old detective explains exactly how the frog helped save a little girl from continued abuse and put a very bad mother behind bars.

The detective doesn't smile again until she concludes, “We cracked the case.” Then she beams.

It's a revealing side to men and women in uniform that most of us don't see, a side that cops don't readily offer up.

• • •

I visited the Family Justice Center for the first time more than a year ago and never shook off the conversation I had with one of the detectives. With tears in her eyes, she shared photos that a parent never forgets – pictures of tiny broken arms.

Opened less than a decade ago and nestled in a neighborhood far from the officialdom of the police station and city hall, the center shuns uniforms to make things more informal.

Serving the county, the center specializes in domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault, elder and dependent-adult abuse – the kind of crimes that a son was arrested for this week in Costa Mesa. Police said his 80-year-old mother died from infections after he left her lying on a bathroom floor for two days.

Returning to the center, I meet Lomeli. We walk into a room where children too young to know the words for what happened to them can use toys to explain things many of us can't imagine.

We pass through offices for legal aid, the district attorney, social services, victim assistance. We visit a TV studio of sorts where a wife can safely explain to a judge through closed-circuit television why she is terrified of her husband – while her spouse is tucked in a courtroom miles away.

But the center's success isn't about the building or even the different departments. It's about the people. As Anaheim police Chief John Welter says: “The responsibility does not rest with any single individual. It is a responsibility shared.”

Consider that many victims suffer from exceptionally low self-esteem and often have little idea how to manage money. Lomeli shares several success stories. One is about a woman who started her own flower business; another is about a woman who opened a bakery.

The detective offers, “It's rewarding to see entrepreneurs emerge after training.”

Lomeli's phrasing may sound odd for a cop who works sex crimes. But at UCLA, she majored in economics.

• • •

It takes little effort to ascribe imagined values, backgrounds and behaviors to cops. Television, movies, video games feed us plenty of drivel. But ascribing reality and depth to peace officers takes listening.

When Lomeli started talking to a group of Spanish-speaking women, it was clear she wasn't connecting. One woman went so far as to say the officer couldn't understand what it's like to live in a family in which alcohol and violence rule.

Lomeli assured them it was true that her parents were good, hard-working people. Still, she understood.

The detective grew up in the troubled city of Bell. Every day while her parents worked, Lomeli was dropped off at her aunt's. Too often, her uncle came home drunk, spent the rent money on booze, broke windows.

Eventually, her aunt fled and lived in a garage with Lomeli's four cousins. Yes, Lomeli understands.

When she neared graduation at UCLA, Lomeli found herself recalling her teen years when she worked at a Marie Callender's where her father was a cook. But Lomeli wasn't considering the economics of restaurants. Instead, she thought of the police officers who came by for coffee, kind and caring men who talked about the rewards of helping others.

Lomeli screwed up her courage and confessed to her parents she wasn't interested in finance. She wanted to become a police officer. At first, the announcement didn't go well. Her parents worried their little girl would get hurt or worse. But that dissipated – a good thing.

Lomeli tells me, “I'm more proud about graduating from the police academy than UCLA.”

Still, there is nothing that prepares you for evil.

• • •

Lomeli speaks almost in a whisper when she talks about the really tough cases, the kind that make you want to hug your family.

There was the husband who smashed the barrel of gun into his wife's temple after his gun failed to fire.

Then there was the case that started before Lomeli got to work. She was listening to her police radio when she heard a report about a double homicide. A woman and her boyfriend had been shot in front of a 5-year-old child.

Lomeli thought she recognized a name and looked it up. Sure enough, the mother had sought help after repeatedly being attacked by an ex. Police had been involved.

But Lomeli speaks more to herself than to me, someone who needs no convincing.

Fortunately, the good guys usually win. Sort of.

• • •

The case with the frog began when a baby boy arrived at a hospital with a skull fracture. Doctors discovered the 3-month-old had a previous head injury and that his retinas were detached, blinding him.

His mother blamed her 6-year-old daughter, an abnormally small girl for her age. When the girl was asked what happened to her baby brother, she threw a doll on the floor. Case closed? Not for Lomeli.

Lomeli followed a hunch and searched for a stuffed animal the size of the baby. She bought the frog, pulled apart the stitching, removed the stuffing and inserted baggies of sand to make the toy weigh the same as the infant, 13 pounds. Then she asked the little girl to throw the frog on the floor.

The little girl was too weak to pick up the frog, let alone hurl it on the floor. Mom eventually admitted she was guilty.

Sadly, the ending to the case is as messy as life. Both parents are in prison on unrelated charges. The baby likely will never fully heal. But the little girl is cared for.

Some might despair, walk away from a career filled with darkness. Yet Lomeli manages. “It's the kind of case that keeps you going.”

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